I mentioned that Jack had much more character development in the rough draft of this book. This scene was early on, right after the fundraiser (with the waiters and the guns) when she leaves with Jack (chapter 5). It was cut mainly because there was some confusion by early readers over who the real love interest was going to be. Even now, through the beauty of Wattpad comments, I can see people wondering about that in the first few chapters. So in the end it's good that I removed all of this. I originally wanted people to get to know Jack before he was gone, but my editor felt that readers were only going to get angry if they got too attached to him before he was killed. Good advice. Since you now know what happens, it's probably safe to let you read it. Don't go falling in love with him though :) 

You will recognize some things here that had to be shifted to other chapters due to the edit.

The night shift was at the station when they arrived. Virginia was able to clean up and change, putting on jeans and a blouse that she kept stored in her locker. She did some repair work on her hair, knowing any attempt to take it down would be a disaster what with all the spray that had been built into its design. The bruise by her mouth was minimized with a little makeup.

The dress got tossed in the garbage.

Jack had dropped her off and gone home to ditch the tux. She had offered to do all the paperwork, but he had said no, that he wouldn't be long, to leave it for him to do when he got back. Left waiting, she had way too much time on her hands. Tired of picturing Tom with his arm around another woman, she decided she needed a drink. Or two. Maybe five.

The bar across the street was a favorite with the guys at work. She had been in there a few times for birthday celebrations, retirement send-offs, stag parties, those kinds of things. It would do just fine.

The place was moderately crowded when she walked in. She picked out a stool at the empty end of the bar, distancing herself from most of the patrons. Looking around, she didn't see anyone she knew. It was definitely a younger crowd late at night.

The decor was nice. Nothing fancy by any means, but it was clean. The bar gleamed, solely due to the efforts of the middle-aged, diligent bartender who had a special kind of . . . charm. He was the owner, an ex-biker who, after a few run-ins with the law, had decided to put down some roots and run a legitimate business. Being a don't-bullshit-me kind of guy was a plus considering the majority of his patrons were from across the street. Contrary to popular belief, cops were not always the easiest customers. A sign that read TAKE NO PRISONERS hung prominently at the back of the bar. That pretty much summed him up.

She ordered a beer and kept an eye on the young couple at the far end of the bar as she drank it. The two sat huddled together, smiling, touching, occasionally leaning in to touch lips—completely engrossed in one another.

Virginia could barely remember what that felt like. She'd have to dig through a lot of memories, all the way back to a political science class during her third year at UCLA when she found herself dazzled by the handsome, fun-loving man sitting beside her. She had been taking the course as an elective toward her criminal psychology degree. Law enforcement was in her blood, having a grandfather and two uncles that were former cops and a circuit court judge for a father. Tom had been taking the course as part of his career choice. His family had a long history in politics and had pushed Tom in that direction.

They had been so young and stubborn. Married right after graduation, Virginia's parents had been a little wary of the speed of it all but had supported her nonetheless. Tom's parents would have preferred that he'd picked one of the daughters of their many friends at the country club. They were cold, stuffy people—around her anyway—but Tom had reassured her that his parents' opinion didn't matter, as long as they were together.

Their one-bedroom apartment in Lynwood, just outside of downtown, had been small with no air conditioning and barely any furniture. She went to work right away while Tom went on to get his masters. It had been tough during those first few years, having little money and busy schedules, but they had been happy.

Sadly, things had changed once Tom started working. Starting out as a political consultant, he had run for a seat on the City Council and won, becoming popular with the city's big shots and important officials. His run for mayor came with an eight-year, two-term plan of running for governor. He had turned into the type of government bureaucrat they'd both rallied against in school—a political climber whose campaign strategy was more about his own needs then the needs of the city he was serving. He'd made his parents proud.

Yes, they had grown apart, but she had never suspected he was cheating on her.

Until now.

The woman at the far end of the bar giggled, then seemed to blush at something the man whispered in her ear. She turned and leaned into his upper arm, resting her head on his shoulder.

How long until she's drinking alone at a bar? Virginia wondered with a rush of bitterness. Then regretted it—she so did not want to be that person.

Picking at the label on her empty beer bottle, she was considering ordering something stronger when a fancy-looking drink appeared in front of her. Her eyes travelled up the tattooed arm that had slid it there to find the owner staring back at her. He pointed to a table of five men in the far corner. "It's from them. They've been here for awhile, just to warn you. I told them to leave you alone, that you weren't interested, but they wouldn't stop pestering me. Do what you want with it, Lieutenant."

Mostly a beer and wine drinker, the barely-pink drink was a novelty to her. Laid out in its wide-rimmed bowl atop a delicate stem and tiny base, she was hesitant to touch the thing for fear of knocking it over. Leaning down, she gave it a sniff—its fruity spirituous scent seemed palatable. Why not, she thought with a shrug. Picking it up, she lifted it high in a toasting fashion to the corner table before drinking it down in a few gulps.

The five spendthrifts whistled their encouragement from across the room.

The bartender looked pissed. "You're not driving, I hope."

"Oh, crap. No, I'm not." She had totally forgotten about Jack.

He turned away with a grunt, off to serve others. She reached for her purse, intending to give Jack a call and—

"Can I join you?"

She glanced over her shoulder to find one of the five standing behind her. He was young and lean with a brooding James Dean demeanor that looked over-rehearsed.

"Aren't I a little old for you?"

"I don't conform to the rules and confinement society imposes."

Better not tell him I'm a cop, then. Man, he really had the whole Rebel Without a Cause thing nailed.

He shrugged. "Besides, older women are more . . . interesting."

Desperate, she auto-corrected. He's right.

She slapped the stool beside her. "Sit on down." After the way Tom had treated her, she was feeling a strong kinship with all that youthful angst.

He introduced himself as Chris and promptly ordered two more of the fancy drinks. "What exactly are these?" she drawled, leaning in close to all that able-bodied warmth. The alcohol was ramping up her retribution urges—it was payback time for Tom and the guy beside her would do just fine.

"Cosmopolitans." He smiled. "You like?"

Before she could answer, a male voice cut in, "It's more of a woman's drink, Chris. Am I right?"

Virginia turned to find another young specimen from the corner table smiling down at her.

"Barry," he said, holding out his hand.

She shook it vigorously and laughed, feeling happier than she knew she had a right to. "Virginia," she responded, motioning to the stool on her other side. "Have a seat, Barry."

) l (

Jack picked up the pace, breaking into a jog as he crossed the street, wondering why she hadn't bothered to call and tell him where she was. Maybe she had too much on her mind. She had been unusually quiet on the drive down, and he knew it was that idiot husband of hers who was to blame.

He'd had Tom pegged the minute he'd met him. And he wasn't the only one—Tom's condescending attitude didn't sit well with any of the guys at the station. They no longer asked about him when she showed up to events alone. How that over-privileged ass had ever ended up with a woman like her was a mystery. He didn't deserve her. She was the real deal, beautiful, smart, funny, decent . . . beautiful. And you're a sap, he mentally added, pulling open the wood door in front of him.

Shouts and laughter from a game of darts across the room competed with the southern rock playing on the jukebox in front of him. The place was crowded, but it didn't take long to spot her. Virginia looked totally at ease sitting at the end of the bar, stringing two guys along. The men were taking turns leaning in, their hands travelling low on her back, their smiles slow and smug when she laughed. Jack knew exactly what the men's motives were—given all the empty glasses lining the bar in front of them—but he was unsure about hers. Or maybe not. She was doing her own share of let's-check-out-the-muscles touchy feely with the bicep of the guy on her left.

His irritation surged. He had dropped her at the station, raced home, showered in record time, and returned to find her gone. Wondering if she had decided to make her own way home, he had left message after message on her cell while getting the paperwork done. Frustrated by her lack of response, he had been about to drive over to her house when the desk sergeant pointed him in the right direction. And here she was, acting the outrageous flirt. Was he more miffed at her for flirting or at himself for having missed the opportunity to be the recipient of some of that sexy attention?

He walked up behind the trio and cleared his throat. Twice.

Virginia glanced over her shoulder. "Jack!" She spun on the stool to face him. "I didn't think you were coming back." As the two men turned to the source of the interruption, she added, "This is my partner, Jack."

"Boyfriend?" the one on the left asked.

"Noooo. Partner as in cop. So behave yourselves." She winked. Sort of. "Jack, meet my new friends, Chris and Gary."

"Barry," the guy on the right corrected.

"Ooops, sorry." Virginia giggled.

The bastard's hand came up to the back of her neck as he leaned in close with a lecherous smile. "That's okay, darlin'. You are far too pretty to . . ."

Jack didn't give a rat's ass about their names. In fact, he was barely tracking the conversation, too focused on the hand that was now drifting up and down his partner's back. Enough, he thought. He reached forward and touched her arm. "Time to get you home."

"Hey, buddy, back off!" The lecher was up and off his stool in a flash, blocking Jack's access to her. "The lady gets to go home with who she wants to go home with."

Jack stepped forward, bringing his chest to within inches of the aggressor's. "Trust me, you don't want to go there."

The friend stood up, completing the Jack sandwich.

There was a moment of silence while nobody moved, Ben and Jerry probably figuring the two-to-one odds were working in their favor. Unfortunately for them, Jack was jonesing for a fight—the perfect outlet for his frustration. The fundraiser, the paperwork, the worry over her, his life in general, he could feel the tension from it all pounding through his veins. "Are you two just into the cuddling shit or shall we step outside and get busy?" he growled.

"Hey, hey, guys," Virginia moaned. Attempting to stand, she teetered and fell back to her seat, then tried again, more successfully. Somehow squeezing between him and the lecher, she put a hand on each of their chests. "No fighting. You don't want to piss Jack off. He shot a guy tonight." She hesitated, deep in thought, or as deep as she could be at that moment. "No . . . wait . . . I shot a guy." She sat back down. "What a day, whew!"

"Is there a problem here?" The tattooed proprietor was at their end of the bar. He looked as if he were on his way out to play baseball the way he held the bat in his hand, lightly smacking the wide end of it into his open palm.

Apparently, the bar dudes didn't want to play; after tearing their glares from Jack's face, they picked up their drinks and walked away.

Jack gave a nod to the bartender. "Thanks, man."

He frowned. "I didn't do it for you. I don't want no fucken trouble in my place." The bat got pointed in Virginia's direction. "And she's not driving."

Jack blinked a few times, caught up in thought: The guy must have been one hell of a scary biker. No need for him to hire bouncers.

"Well?" he snapped.

"No, no, of course not." Jack took Virginia by the arm, helping her to her feet.

"Thanks, Jackie," she mumbled.

Once inside the Mustang, he buckled her in. "Don't puke," he grunted.

She gave him a sloppy grin.

Wanting to put some distance between them and the bar, he headed out but drove only a short distance to a school parking lot two blocks down the street. Turning off the car, the abrupt, compressing silence was like a dive into deep water.

She leaned forward and squinted through the windshield. "Where are we?" she whispered—it was that quiet.

He turned to face her. "What were you doing, Virginia? Those guys were all over you. I know Tom was an ass tonight but—"

"I don't want to talk about him." She slumped back in her seat and stared down at the floor mat. "I was just having some fun," she said softly.

"Getting drunk and having guys paw at you is fun?"

She snorted. "Oh, look who's talking." Her hand waved in the air dismissively. "Mr. Screw-anything-with-nice-boobs." Drunken snickers turned into a full-out belly laugh, filling the car with a distracting avoidance.

He let her laugh herself out as he peered up at the night sky. The glow from the city obscured most of the view. Such a shame, he thought. When was the last time he had seen the stars in all their glory? When was the last time he had walked with a woman under those stars, feeling the thrill of possibilities between them?

He looked over at his partner; her eyes were closed, her torso jerking with the tiny, repetitive pulses of hiccups brought on by laughter. Five years. At least. It had been five years since he had transferred to Southeast. Five years of hoping. Five years of waiting. He was starting to feel his age. Forty was not that far off, and the thought of being alone the rest of his life scared the shit out of him.

It had to be the melancholy mood, or maybe it was the unlikelihood of her remembering anything that prompted his sudden confession. "I spend most evenings working a second job. I just let the guys go on about me." There was tightness in his chest, probably his heart launching a work slowdown to protest against the big mouth that was about to let the cat out of the bag. "Truth is, I'm nuts over this one girl, but I can't have her. So I wait, hoping one day she'll show up on my doorstep looking for me." He sighed, wishing it all sounded more optimistic, less pathetic, diluting the fact that it didn't by adding, "I'm a patient man."

Her eyes flew open, her mouth not far behind. She wagged a finger in the air, another hiccup interrupting its rhythm. "I knew this would happen, Jack. I'm a little jealous. Who's the lucky girl?"

He took a long look at her, trying to evaluate how coherent she was, whether she would remember any of this in the morning. Did he want her to?

"You," he finally said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

God, he needed to get off this topic. Reaching forward, he brought the Mustang's powerful roar back to life, killing the stunned silence that surrounded them.

Now that I read it again, I'm glad I removed it. Her getting drunk in a bar doesn't really work well. You can tell me what you think.